Joy Is Jam On My Muffin

A Lori Tale

Morning now, if only just. The light has not yet arrived. The kettle is close to boiling. Instead of toast, I celebrate this Sunday morning with strawberry jam on a muffin.

I’d like to change myself. John Donne’s theory that ‘no man is an island’ is disputed by me. I’ve never trusted my openness to anyone but the very closest. The very idea of being open frightens me. I never made much sense to people.

I was always afraid of being in love but eager to learn. I never heard love calling the way I hear hills calling out to be climbed, taking me closer to the sky. Or the sea’s warning, hold on to me, and I’ll become your enemy, let me go, and I’ll be your friend.

“Mr. Harry, help me with the gate, will you…”

Ah, as if called, here is Lori visiting. “Coming, Lori.”

Together we swing open the gate. “Carry me, please, Mr. Harry.”

“What’s wrong, child?” I ask. Pulling her up to rest against my chest.

“It’s nice to be held in safe arms when it’s dark, Mr. Harry,” she said, her warm breath on my neck.

We understand oceans only when daring to wade in, learning about joy and fear. There are right ways and a wrong way to learn about fear. Ankle deep at first, always sure the next step will bring a new lesson.

“I’ve got you, Lori. You’re safe.”

“Do you ever feel frightened, Mr. Harry?”

We’ve all lost someone in our lives. Some of us lost ourselves. If there is a remedy, it comes with the feeling of arms about you, knowing the clasp of another’s hand. When I was young, I remember how little it took to make me happy? It takes more today.

“Of course, yes. All the time…all the time, Lori.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Harry. I’ve got you.”

Dreams coming in old age are left on the page. But dreams, of course, have to be worked at. Otherwise, dreams are all they can be. Lori’s footprints in the sand are gone when I wake up. We hadn’t been for that walk by the sea. Those imagined footprints eroded by the first wave of wakening.

Things do not change because of accidents or war. Every man is changed by what he sees, what he believes. No newspaper, horoscope read, no stars, no sages, no creative play on words, no sayings will ever change mankind. What then? What makes us turn? I don’t know. Thousands of years have gone by, and no-one has come up with a better solution than using might against might.

“You won’t go away, will you, Mr. Harry. I’d be lost without you.”

“No matter what comes, you’re in my heart, Lori. Your innocence, your vulnerability.”

Memories and regrets. These are the things that have us locked up. Doors to the outside world slammed, windows barred. We live day-to-day in solitary confinement. Escaping means finding love and laughter again. You don’t even think of escape; in fact, you get to hoping there is no possible way out.

“I’ll go now, Mr. Harry. Don’t forget me.”

Watching her leave, our love felt huge and as magnificent as that of a late afternoon.

Hello, this might be of some interest. If you would like to join Medium as a Member, giving you access to every story I write, and the whole shabang of talented writers on Medium, and you want to join up, read, or earn yourself a few coins writing, please think about using this LINK to become a member. Cost $5. You’ll be gifting me a cup of coffee, and treating yourself to the wonderland of Medium.com💜✍️